Summer Ghosts, Absinthe Dream
by Belladonna Lee
Summary: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald. Sitting in a dingy café in Arles, Gellert nurses a glass of absinthe and waits for a certain someone who might or might not show up.


Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

A/N: This story has nothing to do with the _Fantastic Beasts _movies.

**Summer Ghosts, Absinthe Dream**

In the grey evening of late autumn, rain pattered against the cobblestone pavement, a sound liken to the beating of a thousand pairs of wings. Behind the grimy windows of a dimly lit café, night arrived early and was here to stay. Kerosene lamps cast their dull golden light upon liquor-stained tables and half-empty glasses. A haze of smoke lingered in the air like random thoughts and imaginary ghosts. A few drinkers scattered about the room, drinking in solitude and subdued silence.

Sitting by himself at one of the tables, Gellert nursed a glass of absinthe and waited for a certain someone who might or might not show up. He did not mind the wait. He would wait until the café closed its door for the night, and regardless of whether that certain someone appeared or not, he would be on his way. In the meanwhile, he would keep himself entertained.

With glazed eyes he gazed into the glass and contemplated the milky concoction of absinthe, water and sugar. Within the glass held the dream of the green fairy: pale and opaque, and smelling of herbs that had woken from their slumber to blossom one more time before the great oblivion. He drank a mouthful and savoured the aromas, beneath which lay profound bitterness with a note of sweetness.

In the swirling well of his mind, he saw summer green and azure blue and auburn red. He saw a plain white shirt, its top two buttons undone, revealing a bare throat, the inviting Adam's Apple and the sensual curves of the collar-bones. He could smell the grass, sunlight, black tea and a whiff of citrus fragrance.

He saw fingers trailing along the lines on the pages of a book, caressing the words as though they were words of love from a lover. He saw those same fingers holding a wand, and he saw the wand tracing spells in the air. He saw a pair of piercing blue eyes gazing at him, accusing, judging, resenting, pleading, yearning. He saw a figure falling into the dark, its hand outstretched as though reaching for the sky.

His eyelids sliding shut of their own accord, Gellert pictured a certain someone in a sapphire-blue coat walking in the rain, a grey fedora hat perched on the head at an angle, and a pair of high-heeled boots stepping over puddles on the pavement. He saw that certain someone dally outside a dingy café, hesitating. Eventually that certain someone took off his hat and stepped into the café.

A faint whiff of citrus fragrance teased Gellert's senses before a familiar voice rang out beside him. "The green fairy will do you little good."

Neither ruffled nor surprised, Gellert opened his eyes and looked to his right. The table next to him was now occupied by a certain someone who was not there before, who was obstinately refusing to look at him. Auburn hair, sapphire-blue coat, high-heeled boots, and a grey fedora hat on the table—no longer a mere vision, it was Albus Dumbledore in the flesh. A waiter brought Albus a cup of coffee, and Albus thanked him in French.

Gellert smiled a catlike smile and studied Albus' profile. The crooked nose was unfortunate; he had rather liked the way Albus' nose used to look. "Whereas you will do me much good?" he purred.

Albus pressed his lips in a tight line and gave Gellert a sidelong glance, a glance that was at once a warning and a rebuff. Without a word Albus took out something from the pocket of his fine waistcoat, unfolded it and placed it on Gellert's table. It was a clipping from a newspaper for the British wizarding community, dated a week ago.

With mild interest Gellert picked up the newspaper clipping, read it once, and dropped it without ceremony on the table. "A ghastly affair. I read about it in the newspaper the other day. What do you make of it?"

"You know better than I do, Gellert," Albus said quietly, looking ahead and beyond the drabness of the café at something only he could see: perhaps the past, perhaps the future, perhaps the possibilities that were never realised and the other reality that did not exist.

Gellert narrowed his eyes. "Are you accusing me?"

"I know you had a hand in this."

Instead of feeling affronted, Gellert grinned a wicked grin before downing another mouthful of absinthe. "Have you been keeping an eye on me? I'm touched. You could have come to me in person, and I would have told you all that you wish to know."

A wry smile played about Albus' lips, and his downcast eyes studied the stained, scarred surface of the wooden table, reading symbols and signs that Gellert could not decipher. "Only those things that _you_ wish for me to know, isn't that so?"

Smiling still, Gellert ran his finger along the rim of the glass, drawing continuous circles that had no beginning and no end. "And those things that you fear to hear from me, Albus."

Albus flinched and parted his lips, as though sucking in a breath, as though meaning to speak, but in the end not a sound came out of his mouth. Time came to a halt. Silence filled the space between Gellert and Albus, a space haunted by unspoken words and lingering affection and unfulfilled desire. They were sitting close to each other, so close Gellert could almost feel the body heat radiating from Albus. He needed only to reach out to touch Albus and vice versa, but he knew Albus would never do that.

With half-closed eyes Gellert gazed at Albus: older, wiser, wearier, lonelier. Meanwhile, Albus was gazing at Gellert's hand, perhaps imagining how it would feel to be caressed by Gellert's hand, perhaps picturing the blood on Gellert's hand, perhaps thinking of nothing at all. For one impulsive moment, Gellert wanted to reach out and touch Albus—to see what Albus would do, to compel Albus to look at him, to...

Holding his glass of green fairy's dream, Gellert asked, "Have you ever been with anyone?"

At last those brilliant blue eyes of Albus' fell upon Gellert, the blue of the summer sky reflecting Gellert's silhouette in their depth. "I..." Albus faltered and flustered, his lips invitingly parted. "It is not to be."

Something stirred awake within Gellert's psyche, urges that ran counter to every one of his plans and schemes, an itch that would not be denied or vanquished. In the other reality where possibilities were realised, he could see himself leaning forward and capturing Albus' lips with his lips, taking into himself those words that Albus could not—would not—vocalise, eating them up, swallowing them up, turning them into a part of his being.

"Do you dislike being touched? Or is it simply that intimacy does not interest you?" _Perhaps you are afraid. _Gellert's unspoken words hung over the space between him and Albus like a wisp of smoke.

A flicker of emotions appeared upon Albus' visage—hunted, haunted, caught. Looking away, he cradled the cup of coffee he barely touched, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "Yes, I am afraid."

Taken aback, Gellert blinked and contemplated Albus' hands: long, bony fingers wrapped around the cup as though holding a cupful of memories. "Of me?" he asked, and this time Albus did not answer. "Why are you here?"

Albus bowed his head ever so slightly and stared into the cup. A moment later, he raised his head and gazed at a spot in the distance. "To implore you to stop this madness."

Undaunted, Gellert smiled a crooked smile. "We are all mad here. I am mad. You are mad." He leant back casually in his chair and crossed his legs. Albus would not duel with him here, he knew, not unless he forced Albus' hand. "If I refuse to stop, what would you do?"

"I shall do whatever it takes to stop you." With that Albus drank his coffee, sighed, and returned the cup to its saucer. "But I hope it will not come to that." A pause. "It is not too late to walk away, Gellert," he added.

"Is that an advice from an old friend? Or is that a warning from Albus Dumbledore the wizard?"

"Both."

Letting out a humming sound, Gellert picked up his glass, tossed down the absinthe, and squinted at the distorted world through the glass. "I can't tell if you are being cruel or being kind." He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, but he did not turn to look. "Is this the only reason you are here?"

"This is the only reason I need," Albus replied after a beat. The calmness of his voice did not match the defensive edge of his words.

"Is it really?"

There was no reply, and the question was lost in the void. With a clink Gellert put down his glass, turned bodily towards Albus, and waited for the words that never came. A flicker of irritation came and went inside of him like a flash bulb, leaving nothing but an afterimage behind.

No longer smiling and no longer playing, Gellert held Albus in his deep blue gaze. "Come with me, and I shall stop this madness."

With a look of incredulity Albus stared at Gellert. Blue eyes peered into blue eyes, blue sinking and melting into blue. A thrill ran down Gellert's spine, and he heard something breaking, crumbling, though whether it came from Albus or from within himself he could not be certain.

In the blue well of Albus' eyes, Gellert saw himself and Albus clinging to each other and clawing at each other, their bodies overlapping, entangling, fusing together until it was impossible to tell them apart. He saw fingers interlacing, and he saw a pair of hands choking someone's throat. He saw two figures holding each other close and falling headlong into the dark.

Darkness took on contours and shapes, and he found himself lying on a bed in a dark room, naked and alone, his hands roaming over his body with a will of their own. Not a sound could be heard but panting and racing heartbeat. A name fell from his parted lips, a name that was like a spell and a curse. He tumbled—nothingness awaited.

With a snap Gellert returned to himself, and he blinked away the darkness and the memory that might or might not be his. As reality reasserted its hold over him, he smiled a vague smile at Albus, who glowered at him while trying to suppress some inner turmoil. Albus had looked into him and realised he meant what he said, Gellert knew, and Albus did not trust him to keep his words. It barely hurt.

"What are you playing at?" Albus demanded.

"You already know. I cannot lie to you." Gellert passed his hand over the newspaper clipping on the table and wiped away the printed words with a spell. He conjured a quill, wrote down an address on the blank slip of paper, and placed the note on Albus' table. "I'll be waiting till morning. After that, you'll have to look for me elsewhere."

With barely a thought Gellert crushed the quill into nothingness, left some Muggle money on the table, and stood up. When a hand grabbed his arm, he turned ever so slightly and met Albus' piercing blue eyes. For a moment or two, he pictured himself being dissected, his flesh peeled away like orange peel to expose the secrets within, and hands reaching inside and weighing every one of his organs.

"Perhaps you can't wait?" Gellert teased, and with a morose look Albus let him go. "You can give the address to the authorities, or you can ignore it. It's your choice." Unable to resist, he brushed back a strand of auburn hair from Albus' brow, his fingertips grazing Albus' warm skin. "I hope I'll see you again."

Albus caught his breath, and a shadow came upon his countenance. "I don't doubt that we'll see each other again," he said, his voice a mere whisper.

For once Gellert did not quip; instead, he gave Albus a quick smile and went on his way. On the street, night had fallen, and the overcast sky had taken on a reddish tint. The rain-drenched pavement shimmered beneath golden streetlight like an Impressionist reverie. Head bowed and shoulders slumped, a man trudged on as though sleepwalking through life. The night smelled of rain and dust and autumnal decay.

Gellert could feel an absence beside him—an absence that had followed him out of the café and onto the street, an absence in the shape of that certain someone who would not go with him. A cool breeze caressed his hair, and a sprinkle of rain kissed his face. The sliver of warmth he had stolen from Albus had already faded. Only the bittersweet aftertaste of absinthe remained like the ruins of a feverish dream.

* * *

Long after Gellert was gone and his table cleared of every trace of him, Albus remained where he was, staring long and hard at the note Gellert had left behind. Over and over again he traced the sprawling writing with his eyes until it was burnt into his mind, and the address became an unintelligible jumble of letters and numbers he could no longer make sense of—a cipher Gellert had left for him to solve. His coffee had gone cold, and he took no notice.

Beneath his composed exterior, he was recalling a certain summer many years ago, the summer that had since taken on the quality of a dream—a nightmare. The suffocating family home he longed to run away from, the deep blue sky he longed to escape into, Aberforth's sullen gaze, Ariana's timid look, and the strange boy with the devilish smile. He did not want to remember; he did not want to forget. He dared not forget.

Even though it was warm in the café, he felt a chill in his core, and the lingering heat that Gellert had induced in him faded away like smoke. Why was he here, Gellert had asked, and he had conjectured and flung the answer (and so much more) in Albus' face. Stricken with a fit of agitation, Albus grabbed the cup and gulped down what remained of the coffee, which was as dark and bitter as his heart.

After taking one last look at the note, Albus dropped it into the ash-tray, set it on fire with a flick of his finger, and watched it burn. The paper curled and blackened, and little by little Gellert's writing was swallowed up in flame until only ashes remained. With that done Albus paid for the coffee, donned his hat, and exited the café.

Cold rain pattered on without an end in sight; warm gaslight shone on into the night. With not a soul in sight, the street of Arles resembled an abandoned stage set. There was an alien scent in the air, a scent different from that of the Scottish countryside or of overcrowded London. As Albus beheld the scenery of this foreign town like the stranger that he was, a hole began to open up inside him.

Why was he here? There was only ever one answer.

Ever so slowly Albus let out a breath and walked away from the café. In the enveloping rain, he thought about the cold, dark boarding room he would return to, and he thought about Gellert's parting words and parting smile. _I hope I'll see you again, _Gellert had said to him. Pressing his lips together, Albus slipped into a dark alley and Disapparated into the night.

* * *

_Finis._

A/N: There is a barely noticeable reference to _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ in the story. Thank you for reading.


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